Mark of an Angel
by OfCabbages'N'Kings
Summary: The Apacolypse is vastly invading the whole world. Sam and Dean need help, but will they recognize it when it comes? Note: I have made up some characters, so don't freak XD
1. Chapter 1: Hangman

Chapter 1—Hangman

_Oh momma, I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law._

_Law-man has put an end to my runnin', and I'm so far from my home._

_Oh momma, I can hear you a cryin', you're so scared and all alone._

_Hangman is coming down from the gallows and I don't have very long._

-----_ Renegade_, Styx

Dean knew he was in deep trouble.

While on a case in Minnesota, some small town cop recognized Dean and instantly had him on his belly with his hands behind him. From there, the FBI got involved and he endured three days of people calling him a "serial killer," "satanic bastard," "desecrator," and so many other names that he had already heard, plus a few new ones he hadn't.

He now kicked his foot against the hard cots flimsy frame and glanced at the steel door hiding him from the outside world.

"Not that there's much of an outside," thought Dean sarcastically. "It all basically looks like the inside."

Suddenly, in a burst of fluorescent light, the door opened. Dean looked up cautiously at the person who stood in the doorway.

"You got a visitor," drawled the man, who roughly yanked Dean up from the floor. He stood still as the guard shackled him. He then shuffled out of the minuscule room and waited patiently as the guard locked the door back.

"I'm not afraid of anyone breaking in," commented Dean. The guard glared at him and continued to fumble with the many keys he had on his key-ring.

"Honestly," said Dean as the guard finally straightened up, "there's nothing in there except my _Bible_ and rosary." This earned him a shove forward from the guard, which caused Dean to stumble a little bit. From there it was silent, except for the clopping of the guard's feet and the shuffling _shish-shish_ noise of Dean's.

The visiting area was small, and only two other people sat at the little tables, holding the phones to their ears. One person was crying with his head in his hands, and the other had leaned so far in that his nose was smushed against the plastic glass. The guard pushed him down in a chair and handcuffed him to the table.

"You know, that's very unsafe," stated Dean. The guard ignored him. "What if there's a fire?" The guard left. With nothing left to do but talk to whomever had come to see him, Dean turned to face the person. Whom he saw almost made him let out a yell.

Snatching the phone from its hook, Dean desperately called into it.

"Sam? Sammy!? Is…is that you in there?"

"Yeah, Dean, it's me."

Dean's eyes were blurred momentarily by tears, and he wiped those away.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, not taking his eyes off of Sam.

"I came to see you," replied Sam.

"No, no," said Dean, shaking his head. "I meant, why are you here? How did you know I was even in this place?"

"Bobby called me," responded Sam blankly. "Told me that you needed to see me." This time Dean leaned into the glass.

"Is that so?" he questioned, staring hard at Sam. "Listen, demonic son-of-a-bitch, I don't give a damn right now. I will come through this plastic and kill you."

"Dude, chill," Sam leaned in too. He reached up to his shirt and pulled it down.

"See," said Sam, gesturing with his chin towards the tattoo, "I'm still me." Dean leaned back.

"Why? After all of this time. After what I saw you do. After I told you to get out and never comeback!" Dean was practically yelling at this point. The man leaning into the glass had leaned back some, now shifting glances at Dean.

"I believe your exact words were, 'If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back'," pointed out Sam. Dean shook his head again.

"Why Sam?" asked Dean in a pleading tone. "Why now? You never bothered to call."

"It's a two-way street, Dean," Sam leaned in again.

"You're not going to die," he said quietly. Dean forced a fake laugh.

"Oh yeah, and how is _that_ going to happen?" He raised his eyebrow.

"You just aren't," replied Sam, looking earnest.

"What are you going to do? Talk to some of your demonic bitches? Make a Deal? Use Black…" Dean faltered when he saw Sam's look.

"Okay, big boy, times up," said the pudgy guard.

"Make a Deal!?" yelled Dean, staring at Sam in shock. Sam said nothing, only hung the phone up.

"It's time to go," said the same pudgy guard

"Make a Deal!?" A note of hysteria entered his voice. "Sam, are you crazy? What are you..."

Two guards hauled Dean from his seat.

"SAM! NO!" he yelled as the guards dragged him away. Sam stared after him with a forlorn expression, then he stood up, and shoving his hands in his pockets, walked back out of the door.

"SAM!!! SAM!!"

"Shut him up," barked the older guard. The other guard clamped a damp cloth over Dean's mouth, and he lost consciousness.

When he came to, he was strapped to some sort of slanted table.

"Ahh, you're awake," a cool voice drifted from behind him. Icy steps cracked against the hard concrete floor. A thin balding man appeared in front of him, carrying a bottle of alcohol and a cotton ball.

"Although," he continued, walking around Dean and rolling up Dean's sleeve as he talked, "it would probably be better for you if you were. Most don't like to see the needle go in."

"Why?" was the surrendered sigh. The man looked up at him in interest.

"'Why'?" he repeated, confused. "Would _you_ like to see Death injected into you?" The man chuckled, as if the thought was that amusing.

"No, why do this?" asked Dean again, studying his arm with intent scrutiny.

"It's my job," replied the man, rubbing alcohol on Dean's arm. "I do what I'm paid to do."

"You could just as easily be employed in a hospital."

"Well, the hospitals don't pay as well," chuckled the man.

"So you find death amusing?"

"Well, I used to work in a morgue. Hated it. Always cold, it was. And cadavers are _so_ dreary."

"Enough talk," barked a voice from behind them. The man mimicked the guard in front of Dean. Dean stretched a smile.

"Well," said the man. He squinted up at Dean. "Best not to prolong these things, I guess."

"Wait," Dean had an idea. The man raised his eyebrows.

"You know, I could talk all day, but I've got a job to do."

"I just want to write a note to my brother."

"Oh, is that the lanky one waiting outside for you?"

"Yeah, probably."

"Very well then," the man set the needle down and rummaged in his pockets for a minute.

"Ah, here we are," he finally said. With a soft _click_, the man gazed at Dean, pen and paper ready to inscribe.

"Can I write it?" he asked, first looking at the paper, then looking at the man. The guard grunted behind them.

"Of course," said the man, who released Dean's right hand. Dean took the pen from him and scribbled a small note to Sam. As he handed the pen back to the man, he hoped Sam would take his warning into mind before he did anything irrational.

"Okay, I'm ready," whispered Dean. The man nodded.

"Here we go," he said somewhat cheerily. Dean felt the prick and burn of the needle and a single tear trickled down his cheek.

* * *

"Here ya go, sweety."

The fat receptionist plopped a bag of Dean's stuff into Sam's lap. Sam looked up at her for a minute, then looked down at the bag. The lady seemed to be waiting for something, but when Sam didn't respond, she patted him on his shoulder and waddled away. A thin man replaced her as the door swung shut behind her. He materialized out of nowhere, just appeared in front of Sam.

"Your brother wrote this to you," he said, holding out a brittle hand to Sam. Sam took the small piece of folded-up, yellow square from him and stood up. The man seemed to straighten up as Sam stood.

"Dean…is he?"

The man patted Sam's arm in what he probably thought was an affectionate way. It only made Sam want to shiver.

"I'm afraid so," answered the man. "But he went calmly. Didn't even struggle. However, a single tear caressed his face before he closed his eyes." Hearing the man talk made Sam want to cry.

"Were can I get him?" His questions seemed so small, so insignificant.

"Right this way," replied the man, waving his hand to a door. Sam followed him through the door, slumping after the man as he was led down long, cold corridors. He had no perception of time, none at all. He suddenly felt like he was following the White Rabbit down an immensely long rabbit hole. He shook his head, having no idea where these thoughts emerged from.

"Here we are," said the man finally. In the dim light, Sam swore he could see his breath. The man unlocked the frozen door, and it swung open silently. Sam shuffled in after him.

"Number thirty-two, thirty-two, thirty-two," mumbled the man as he slid a translucent finger down the cold cupboards. "Ah, here he is, number thirty-two." The brittle man opened the door and slid out a body bag. Sam stared at the bag, wondering if Dean was dressed underneath it.

"I'm afraid they took his clothes," said the man, as if hearing Sam's unspoken thoughts. "Would you like to dress him?" Sam said nothing, only stared at the bag.

"Well, I'll do it," answered the man. He unzipped the bag, but held it close. "Would you like to step outside for a minute?" Sam said nothing again, nor did he attempt to move. The man shrugged as if people acted this way all the time, and pulled open the bag.

Dean lay inside, looking almost peaceful. There was an easiness about him, something that he never possessed when he was alive. He didn't lay there as if he were dead, but as if he were sleeping. It was so different from when he had first died.

Sam had to close Dean's eyes the first time.

Sam had to cover up Dean's bleeding, torn body.

Sam had to clean up the mess left behind.

Sam had to bury Dean.

"But not this time," he whispered to himself.

"'Scuse me?" asked the man, looking up at Sam. "Did you say something?"

"No," said Sam, just as blank as before.

"Oh, well, here he is," the man seemed a bit disturbed by Sam now.

"Thank-you," was Sam's clipped reply.

"Let's hope we don't have to do this again, shall we?"

"There's no one left to do."

The man frowned, and shook his head.

"Shall I wheel him out to your car?" he offered.

"No, I'll do it," Sam took the re-zipped body bag and hefted it up like a sack of potatoes. He walked out, down the cold corridor, out of the bright waiting room, and out into the freezing rain. This time he saw his breath for real.

After gently stretching out Dean in the back seat, Sam started the Impala's engine. He roared away from the prison. Something bumped against his leg as he took a turn to sharply. Glancing down, Sam saw the prescription anti-depression pill bottle rolling around in the passenger seat. Sam yanked the car over and heard Dean thump into the floor. He stopped the car and turned off the engine. He righted Dean, and then picked up the bottle. Shaking three white pills into his hand, Sam tilted his head back and swallowed them dry. Closing his eyes, a memory popped up, and Sam saw it as clear as if it had just happened.

_Click. Click. Click._

"_Sam, why won't you talk to me?"_

_No reply._

"_Drowning your troubles isn't going to help."_

"_Yeah, well I'm not the one who went out and got these," Sam shook the pill bottle in the air, then threw back down with a clatter on the table. Ruby got up and stood behind Sam, massaging his shoulders as she did._

_ "You're tired," she whispered. "You just buried your brother, and you need to sleep."_

_ "No," grunted Sam. He threw her away from him. "Get away from me! Go destroy someone else's life!"_

_ "You still blame me for your problems!?" shouted Ruby. "It's not my fault Lilith stole my meat-suit. You know very well that there was nothing I could do once she ripped me away. It would have taken me a few hours to find another screwed up person to possess, and by that time, you would have been dead!"_

_ They sat in silence for awhile after that. The only noise finally came from Sam, who started to pour salt along the windows and doorways. He sprayed painted a devil's trap on the floor and painted symbols on the walls. When he was done he snatched the little orange bottle from the table and emptied the three pills left inside. He washed these down with whiskey. _

_ "Sam," groaned Ruby from the beaten up couch. She stood up, and being mindful of the devil's trap, wrapped her arms around Sam. Sam seemed to melt for a minute into her arms, then he pushed them away gently and stepped around her. Ruby closed her eyes as if she was concentrating, and turned around. Sam was sitting on the couch looking at his hands, as if they held an answer._

_ "What's wrong Sam?" asked Ruby. She strolled towards the couch and knelt down before Sam. His body went rigid; he didn't even look at her. He didn't flinch as she put her hands on his knees and shuffled herself forward so that she knelt between his legs._

_ "Is it this body?" she continued, taking one of his hands and placing in on her side. "Because it's wrong? None of that matters, Sam."_

_ "Don't," he finally crunched out through gritted teeth._

_ "Don't what?" she asked innocently, taking his other hand and kissing it._

Sam snapped his eyes open. No, he would not relive that moment. If he did, he would also be reliving Dean's comment.

_"Sam," grunted Dean. Sam stopped studying the carpet to look at Dean._

_ "What?" he asked, confused._

_ "TMI, dude," replied Dean, shaking his head._

_ "Dean, I told you I was coming clean about…"_

_ "Yeah, but not _that_ clean."_

A single tear slid down his cheek at the thought. He wiped it away angrily and started Dean's baby up again.

"Not this time," he muttered through his teeth, as he shoved the car into gear and roared off down the road.


	2. Chapter 2: The Circle Never Ends

Chapter 2—The Circle Never Ends

_Take away the sensation inside_

_Bittersweet migraine in my head_

_It's like a thrumming toothache of the mind_

_I can't take this feeling anymore_

_Drain the pressure from the swelling_

_This sensation's overwhelming_

_Give me all a kiss goodnight _

_And everything'll be alright_

_Tell me that I won't feel a thing_

_So give me novacaine_

----_Give Me Novacaine_, by GreenDay

"Sam, where are you going? Sam? Sam!"

Sam took no recognition of the voices behind him.

"Ellen and Bobby can yell themselves hoarse," he thought bitterly. The anti-depressants, mixed with whiskey, rum, and tequila, made him so numb he was sure he shouldn't be able to see straight. They ran fast through his system as he roared away from the Bobby's house and they made him so reckless that he didn't stop once until he was in Louisiana. He had chucked his phone out of the window because it had gotten annoying.

He found a small local joint way back in the weeds along a long stretch of gravel road. It was the kind of place only people who had grown up here would know where it was. Sam only knew because he'd been here before. Down the path, not far from the pub, was a crossroad. The pub itself was called _Crossroad Blues_.

"How fitting," he commented dryly to no one, as he pulled over into one of the four corners of the crossroads. He turned the engine off and got out of the Impala. In his hand was a small, beat-up, rectangular cigar box. Sam marched to the middle of the crossroads and knelt down. He dug a shallow hole in the ground and placed the box in it. He covered the hole and stood up. It was dark out, and fog drifted eerily out from the weeds.

"Well, well, well, little Sammy. We've been wondering when you'd show up," simpered a voice from behind him. Sam turned around and stared at a very attractive woman in a tight-fitting white dress.

"What, no protection?" she mocked. "No devil's trap? No silver dagger? No holy water? Not even a rosary," she continued, circling Sam like a vulture. "We are desperate, aren't we?"

"Then you know why I'm here," stated Sam icily.

"Ooo, that stings," the demon pretended to wince.

"I know you can do it," accused Sam.

"I know too, but I would so love to see you beg."

"What more do you want?" He spread his arms out wide.

"I'm looking for something more original, Sam," snapped the demon. "You should know that by now."

"Okay," replied Sam, stepping up to her. "Where do you want to do this?"

The demon laughed. "Oh, Sam! It's not a question of what _I_ want," giggled the demon. "It's what _you_ want."

"Fine," spat Sam. "I want Dean back," his face softened. Tears sprang to his eyes. The grief and guilt he had been trying to restrain washed over him, making him fall to his knees. He curled into a miserable ball at the crossroad demon's feet, sobbing loudly.

"Dammit," muttered the demon, "I hate it when they start bawling." She reached down and hauled Sam to his feet.

"Shape up boy, cause your brothers gonna open up a can of whoop-ass when he wakes up," she said, dusting off Sam's jacket. Sam hiccupped, looking more and more like lost puppy.

"And since _I'm_ such a gem, I'll give you one year, the same deal Dean had," she continued. "Now, let's seal this deal before you start blubbering again." She pulled Sam to her and kissed him. Sam answered almost to eagerly.

"Woah tiger," joked the demon. She gave him a gentle push. "Go, wherever _that _may be." With a snap of her fingers, she disappeared into the fog. Sam walked slowly back to the Impala.

"Dean's going to kill me," he thought as he started her up and made the gravel fly.

* * *

Dean's eyes flew open. He frowned up at the cracked ceiling above him and winced when the bed he was laying on creaked underneath him when he sat up. Last time he had checked, this wasn't what Hell looked like. Something clunked somewhere. Dean jumped up at the sound. He doubled over when his muscles seized up.

Straightening up, Dean crept to the door. He opened it just enough to barely squeeze through, then shut it just as quietly. Feeling very foolish, Dean slinked slowly down the hallway and down some stairs. He stopped when he got to the corner and glanced around it. He snapped back and closed his eyes. Bobby was sitting at a table drinking a beer while Ellen cooked something behind him.

"What kind of Hell is this?" he thought. Glancing back around the corner, Dean made an impulsive decision. He jumped out from behind the corner. Bobby looked up as his boots made a loud _thump_ on the old wooden floor. Ellen dropped what she was holding. Her mouth moved soundlessly at him as he stood in the entryway, not moving.

It happened fast, but it seemed like everything was moving in slow motion. Bobby leapt from his chair, knocking over the bottle and the chair with loud, ear-shattering crashes. Dean barely had time to react as he was slammed against the wall and a white-hot pain erupted in his shoulder. Dean cried out and tried to shove Bobby away.

"Bobby," he gasped, "it's me."

"You son-of-a-bitch, you can't hide for long," Bobby looked like a lunatic. "Isn't it bad enough that Sam's already tore up, but you demons can't leave the boys alone!"

"Bobby," Dean's head thumped against the wall as Bobby put pressure on the knife. "Bobby," he was nearly crying now. "Please, Bobby, please. It really is me, Dean."

"Bobby, stop it!" Ellen forced her way in between the two of them. Bobby still looked crazy, but he didn't try to continue his torture of Dean when Ellen pulled him away. Dean tried to move away from them, but found he was pinned to the wall by the knife.

"It's him, Bobby, it's really him," Ellen looked at Dean, at the blood that poured down from his shoulder. Bobby seemed to freeze, then his face crumpled.

"Dean!" He cried as he hugged Dean. Ellen was squashed between them, but she didn't seem to mind. Dean grunted as they both bumped the knife handle.

"Um, yeah, I'd join in the group hug, but I'm kind of pinned right now," he gasped as fresh blood escaped.

"Oh, uh, sorry about that," Bobby let go and gently moved Ellen over to the side. He placed one hand on Dean's chest, the other gripped the knife.

"One, two, three," with a grunt, Bobby tugged the knife free. Dean doubled over for the second time that day, this time holding his hurt shoulder.

"Sorry, Dean, I had to make sure," apologized Bobby.

"No harm, no foul," Dean answered sarcastically.

"Let's get you cleaned up," said Ellen, righting Dean and helping him to the kitchen.

"Who did it?" he asked as Ellen began to busy herself with his shoulder. "Since I already know it wasn't you two." He winced as Ellen jostled his arm.

"Sam," Bobby practically spat the name.

"No," said Dean, shaking his head. "No, Sam knows what could happen. No, no, Sam would not do that."

"Dean, the only other people who know you are dead is Jo and Ruby. And neither of them would do such a thing," said Ellen.

"How do you know that? How do you know that they didn't bring me back?" accused Dean.

"Because, asshole, we were both sitting in the living room when you decided to surprise us with your walking carcass," Ruby stood in the doorway. "Sam's the only one who could have done it, and believe me, I sure as hell was_ not_ going to do anything about you, except maybe come to your funeral."

"You're a real pal," Dean said acerbically. He ignored her and asked Bobby, "So where is Sam?"

"Don't know," said Bobby, scratching his neck. "Boy dropped you off, grabbed some liquor and lit outta here so fast I swear I could see smoke coming out from under those tires."

"He took the Impala!"

"Yep."

"That's another thing I'm going to kill him for," Dean stood up. Ellen backed off.

"You may not have to, Dean," said Bobby calmly, standing up as well. "To bring someone back from the dead means you gotta trade one soul for another. Sam could already be an empty corpse by now."

Dean was still seething. "Well hell, let's go find him!"

"Boy, use your head! The last thing Sam wants us to do _is _find him. He ain't gonna be hanging around someplace that we know of!"

"So what do we do? Just sit here and twiddle our thumbs and wait for the police to call? No fucking way!" Dean pushed past Bobby but only found Ruby standing in his way.

"Outta my way, bitch," he growled. Ruby frowned.

"You know, you're not very smart," she said. "Me being a demon and all."

"What are you getting at?" Dean spat at her.

"I'm just saying, I could easily find out where Sammy is and report back here faster than _you_ can."

Dean hesitated. "Why haven't you?"

"Because," said Ruby, exasperated, "until very recently, you were dead and I was trying to find out ways to keep some real nasty bitches from inhabiting your cadaver. I didn't even know Sam was gone until a few minutes ago when you started yelling!"

Dean stared at her. Ruby glowered angrily back.

"Will you?" Dean sounded like he was pleading.

"Oh god! _Do not_ start begging," said Ruby throwing her hands up. "That is the _worst_ thing you could do! And yeah, sure, I'll find him." Ruby turned around and walked out of the front door.

"Should we trust her?" Ellen asked.

"She's all we got," replied Dean, still gazing at the open front door.

* * *

Sam slammed the brakes and almost got whiplash. He stared out of the windshield, not believing what he was seeing.

"Boy, are you in trouble," said Ruby, her arms folded in a defiant way as she stood in the middle of the road.

"How'd you…what are…what's going on?" he stammered as she walked around the Impala and got in.

"I'll tell you what's going on!" Ruby slapped him. "Get ready to get your ass beat, cause you are not going to be able to stand when all _three_ get through with you!"

Sam cowered away from Ruby. Her fury seethed out of her and pooled around them as she glared at Sam.

"Are you an idiot?!" she yelled. "Are you crazy?! What the fuck were you thinking?! Making a fucking Deal like that!"

"I…I…I couldn't leave Dean dead," Sam was sobbing now.

"You did when he first died!"

Sam buried his face in his arm. He didn't feel the sting where Ruby had hit him. How could he, when he knew worse was waiting for him when he got back.

"You're just pathetic!" Ruby continued. "All you Winchesters are! First your dad, then Dean, and now you!"

"I tried the first time," whispered Sam. Ruby paused when she heard his words. Sam rushed on, "I tried to bring Dean back. Tried to switch places. But I couldn't."

Ruby shook her head. "And the circle never ends."


	3. Chapter 3: A Deal's A Deal

Chapter 3—A Deal's A Deal

_I'm feeling rational_

_So come proctectional_

_To tell the truth I am _

_Getting away with murder_

-----_Getting Away with Murder_, by Papa Roach

_As he begins to raise his voice, _

_You lower yours, grant him one last choice._

_Drive until you lose the road,_

_Or break with the ones that follow._

_He will do one of two things_

_He will admit to everything_

_Or keep saying he's just not the same._

----_How to Save a Life_, by The Fray

Dean sat very still as he heard a car pull up outside. It had been six hours since Ruby had left, and Dean hadn't moved once. He sat there, rolling the empty bottle he had drained five hours ago between his hands. Ellen kept trying to get him to eat, but he refused anything she offered. Bobby tried to pull him away from the house, but Dean only ignored him. Jo had even tried to help. She tried to bore him with stories from college, but Dean tuned her out. After about the first two hours they all stopped their efforts. It was clear Dean wasn't going anywhere until Sam was back. So when the car pulled up outside, the tension shot through the roof. Everyone was on edge, waiting to see what would happen.

The front door opened and closed.

"Is he here?" Bobby asked someone.

"Outside, won't come in yet," replied Ruby. Dean stopped rolling the bottle between his hands. He gripped it tighter, like he was going to choke it. His jaw clenched and he stared straight ahead.

"We, ah, got a little situation here," he indicated Dean. "Seems he ain't too happy about being alive."

"Well, he can get over it."

"I'll talk to Sam first; give him a good tongue lashing."

"You do that."

* * *

Sam didn't know what to expect If he had been asked what he had been expecting, he might have replied that he'd been expecting a lynch mob when he got back, but things were very quiet. Very, _very_ quiet. Ruby had just about kicked the door of the car out and darted up the steps before Sam had the engine off. She hadn't come back out.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Sam glanced at the passenger side and got out of his safe haven, the Impala.

"Hey Bobby," he said, swallowing the pit of guilt that had built up.

"Do you know that you're about to be murdered?" asked Bobby. Sam shrugged. "Don't take this lightly, Sam. I oughta chew you out, but it's been about two days since you left. I figure that you've probably chewed yourself out enough, and Ruby certainly hasn't given you a moment's peace since she found you." Sam nodded.

"Well, the only thing I can say is that I'm sorely disappointed in you, Sam. I'da thought that you would know by now that making deals ain't the way to go," Bobby continued, leaning on the Impala. "But I guess it's useless to try and explain that to a Winchester. More than one good amulet or weapon has disappeared from John's personal stash when one of you boys was in deep waters with no life jacket. I guess I should've expected the same for you two."

"Maybe that's why most hunters work alone," Sam said quietly. Bobby nodded.

"Makes for a hell of a lot easier job," Bobby scratched his neck. Sam sighed and came around to the other side of the Impala.

"Guess I need to get this over with," he said, utterly defeated.

"If you ran now, Dean'll just find you and execute you later."

"See you later, I hope."

"Me too, Sam. Me too."

* * *

_Thump, thump, thump. Creeaakk. Thump, thump. Creeaakk. Thump, thump._

Dean didn't need a hint to know who that was. He still didn't move, only gripped the bottle so tight he thought it would break. The heavy clumping of his brother's boots on the floor would have normally made Dean relieved to know that Sam was okay, but now they made him so mad. Rage boiled inside of him, hotter than when he had found out about Sam and the demon blood.

"Dean?" Sam's voice sounded so small. Dean looked down at his white knuckles and slowly stood. He turned around just as slowly. Sam looked so guilty. If Sam had been a dog, his belly would have been touching the floor with his tail between his legs. Dean didn't say anything. In a flash, the bottle broke against the side of Sam's head. Sam crumpled at Dean's feet. A few bloody streaks streamed across his face. The now broken bottle's ragged edges had blood on them.

"What in blazes…Sam!" Ellen stopped in the hallway, first gaping on Sam, then at Dean, who was now heaving heavy breaths and shaking so much that the chair he was gripping rattled.

"Dean! How…why…damn, these are going to have to be sewn," she examined the damage he had done. With an ear-splitting crash, Dean dropped the broken bottle and stepped over Sam and around Ellen.

"Dean Winchester! Where are you going? Dean? Dean, I'm talking to you!"

Ellen's voice didn't register in Dean's ears. He was out the front door and off the porch before she had finished. He shoved past Bobby and got into his car, slamming the doors on his way.

"Dean, what are you doing? Where are you going?" Bobby tried to open the passenger door, but Dean sped off down the drive.

* * *

"Damn these boys. They are always stirring up some kinda trouble," said Ellen, wiping the dripping blood off of Sam's face. "Look at this! I know these two probably fight, but this? This is ridiculous! Only under the influence of some demon or spirit have either of these two _ever _pulled a weapon of any kind on the other!"

"I don't like the way Dean left," said Bobby, handing Ellen some fresh bandages. "He had a fire in his eyes that I haven't seen since…well, since Sam died."

"These two are a heap of trouble. Dammit, Bobby. These boys could be anything right now. Sam could be a lawyer. Dean could be doing God knows what. But at least they'd be _alive_," Ellen was now sobbing. "I know I didn't see 'em grow up, but hell, I wish I did. If I'da known Jonathan Winchester had two children with him, I woulda made him forget all about hunting."

"Dad was an obsessed bastard. All he cared about was finding Azazel and killing him," Sam coughed weakly. He sat up and felt the side of his face. He flinched when his fingers brushed the dressing.

"Had to pull some glass out of it, but the cut's clean," said Bobby.

"He must be really mad," moaned Sam, holding his aching head in his hands. "God, why am I so stupid?"

"I don't know if God can answer you on that one," said Bobby. Ellen got up and left the room. Bobby took her place in the chair next to Sam's bed. He put his hand on Sam's back. Sam looked at him, looking completely lost.

"Sam, he'll come around, you'll see."

"Bobby, I only have one year."

* * *

"You Winchesters sure are giving us a run for our money."

Dean glared at the crossroads demon.

"You know," she continued, getting closer to Dean. "Sam was here not too long ago. Must've just missed him."

"I know," was Dean's curt reply.

"Oh that's right!" exclaimed the demon. "He was here bartering his soul for your life."

"How long did you give him?"

"Sorry, that's confidential information."

"Bitch, how_ long_?"

"I can't tell you. That's between my client and me. Now if _he_ tells you, that's a different story."

"He won't tell me."

The demon shrugged, "Your loss." She started to walk away.

"Wait," said Dean. The demon paused and turned around, a look of surprise on her face.

"Well, sounding a bit fraught, aren't we?" she asked. "I'm a busy woman, make it snappy."

"Give me the same Deal," he said. The demon laughed.

"Oh, _that's_ a punch line for ya!" she continued to laugh.

"I'm not laughing," said Dean, grabbing the demon by her arms. "Do I look funny?"  
"No one _asks_ for a Deal without wanting something in return, Dean" said the demon, now studying Dean intently. "I mean, honestly? Why would anyone _want _to go to 'eternal damnation'?"

"Because this will never stop. It'll keep going. And going," said Dean, exasperated. "Please, you have to do this." The demon shook her head.

"I still think you're crazy, but Lucifer wants you and Sam _so_ bad," she said. "I'll probably get a raise."

"To what, Lucifer's bitch?"

"That was Lillith. No, I just won't have to deal with pathetic people like you anymore," she said. She hesitated, "Are you sure about this?"

"Oh hell yes," said Dean and he leaned in and kissed her.

"Oooo, they weren't kidding about you," commented the demon when he was done. Dean smiled briefly.

"It's been nice, but I really must dash," she said, walking backwards ,away from Dean. "See you in Hell."


	4. Chapter 4: One Year Later

Chapter 4---One Year Later

_When my time comes _

_Forget the wrong that I've done_

_Let me leave behind some reason to be missed_

_And don't resent me_

_And when you're feeling empty_

_Keep me in your memory_

_Leave out all the rest_

_Leave out all the rest_

-----_Leave Out All the Rest_, by Linkin Park

"_It's the eye of the tiger; it's the thrill of the fight, rising up to the challenge of our rivals. And the last one surviving stalks his prey in the night, and he's watching them all with the eyeeee, of the tiger."_

Dean groaned as he rolled over and fumbled for his cell phone.

"Sam, I'm going to kill you," he thought maliciously as he answered sleepily, "Yeah?"

"Dammit boy! What in the hell were you thinking?" Bobby's voice was like a slap of ice water in his face. Dean sat up.

"Bobby?" he asked, sleep now forgotten. Sam opened his eyes in the bed across from Deans.

"Yeah it's me boy!" snapped Bobby. "Why, Dean? Why'd you do it?"

"Bobby, I had to," pleaded Dean.

"Bobby?" mouthed Sam as he too sat up. Dean nodded.

"Dammit, Dean! Wasn't going to Hell once enough for you? Why did you ask to go again?" Bobby sounded so damn tired and exhausted that Dean's willpower faltered.

"I might have committed suicide later, Bobby," explained Dean, rubbing his face. He wouldn't look at Sam. "I couldn't survive."

"Why didn't you just tell me, Dean?" asked Bobby. Dean closed his eyes and remembered what had happened after he had got back from making his Deal.

_ "Dean, where did you go?" Bobby asked as Dean entered the kitchen. Dean laid the Impala's keys on the table._

_ "I had to think," said Dean. "Where's Sam?"_

_ "Upstairs," replied Bobby. Dean turned around, only to find Bobby blocking his path._

_ "What?" he asked._

_ "You look calm now, but I need to tell you something," Bobby looked him up and down. "Sam's been torn up."_

_ "WHAT!" shouted Dean. "I THOUGHT HE HAD A YEAR!"_

_ "Calm down, no, it's not that kind of torn up," said Bobby, making shushing noises. "He's been beating himself over the head about what he's done, Ruby won't let him rest, and you conked him with a glass bottle!"_

_ "Oh, well, I won't do it again," said Dean, trying to push past Bobby. Bobby held his ground._

_ "Just don't give him a hard time," Bobby stepped out of Dean's ways._

_ "I won't," Dean left Bobby and almost ran up the stairs. He knocked on a door, "Sam?" He opened the door slowly and stepped into the room. The door creaked shut._

_ Sam looked up at him. Half of his face was underneath bandages, but the half that Dean could see looked like he had been crying. Dean stumbled forward and knelt on the floor in front of Sam. He grabbed Sam into a hug and squeezed his little brother tightly. Sam hugged him back, holding his brother just as tight. A silent moment passed. _

_ "I'm so sorry, Sammy," gasped a sobbing Dean. "It's nothing I wouldn't have done." _

_ "I know," replied Sam, who was also crying. The brothers released each other._

_ "Come on, Sammy," said Dean, pulling Sam up with him. "Get your stuff together."_

_ "Where are we going?" asked Sam._

_ "Away," replied Dean._

_ "Dean, what happened?" Sam looked confused, then it dawned on him. "You didn't do anything, did you?" Dean stopped moving around the room to look at Sam. His face told it all._

_ "You…made a Deal? At what cost?"_

_ "I couldn't get you out, I knew that. But at least I won't have to think about you suffering," ashamed, Dean turned away from Sam._

_ "What did you do?" Sam sounded almost fearful._

_ "I'm going down with you, Sam," said Dean._

_ "Wait, you asked to go to Hell?" Sam looked doubtful. Dean nodded. Sam laughed, "Dean, no one in their right mind asks to go to Hell."_

_ "Yeah, well I ain't in my right mind."_

"Bobby, I'm sorry, but I just couldn't do it," apologized Dean. He shut the cell phone.

"So Bobby found out?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, and I have no idea how," said Dean, walking into the motel room's miniature bathroom. A little while later, Sam and Dean were in the Impala, leaving Michigan and on their way to Illinois.

"This is the last day," said Sam. Dean nodded. Sam looked at him.

"What are we going to do?" he asked. Dean shrugged.

"I don't know, I mean, last time, we were looking for Lillith, now…" he shrugged again.

"Let's go to Kansas," said Sam.

"What? Are you insane?"

"No, not really, but I just would really like to see Mom one more time," said Sam. Dean sighed.

"Okay, Dorothy, we're going to Kansas," he said as he turned up the radio. Sam laughed.

* * *

A few hours later, Sam stood in front of his mom's tombstone. Dean leaned against the Impala.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Sam whispered. "I'm sorry I couldn't be a lawyer. Sorry that you died. Sorry that I wasn't raised the way you wanted me to be." He wiped away a tear. "Maybe I'll see you some day." Then he heard them. He spun around fast. Dean ran to his side, and stared in the same direction. Fear rode unbridled across their faces.

"Sam," gasped Dean, breathing heavy. "I…I'm sorry." Sam looked at him funny. Then Dean's words sunk in.

"I love you too, Dean," he whispered. The brothers embraced each other, and, in a deranged way, Death itself. The Hell Hounds came closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Sam saw them first.

"Dean, run!" he yelled turning around and taking off into the graveyard, Dean close on his heels. Sam heard a thud, and Dean shrieked.

"Dean!" he screamed, turning around to watch Dean be dragged off between the tombstones. Something hit Sam from behind, and whatever it was grabbed his arm and dragged him in the same direction. Sam raised his head a little to see the ugliest and most deformed dog he had ever seen. Its head and body were those of a pit bull, but no skin or fur covered its body. Everything was exposed and its eyes glowed fiery red.

Sam stopped moving beside Dean. The two brothers looked at each other for a second before one of the Hell Hounds pounced on Sam. Ripping open his shirt, the Hound tore into Sam's flesh and ripped apart his insides. Sam screamed and flipped over, his mutilated intestines and stomach spilling onto the ground. The Hound snapped his back, right through the spinal cord, paralyzing him. His thoughts became hazy, like the first time he had died. He forced himself to find Dean.

Dean was in no better shape than he was. Dean was choking on his own blood, coughing it up. Sam's eyes searched for Dean's injuries, and found Dean's entire torso in shreds. The only thing that remained intact was his heart, beating wildly and frantically, pumping blood into nothing.

"Sam," gasped Dean.

"Dean," barely whispered Sam. Dean's head rolled to the side and Sam's head hit the ground with a thud.

Neither moved again.


	5. Chapter 5: The Angels

Chapter 5—The Angels

_I could use another cigarette_

_But don't worry daddy, I'm not addicted yet_

----_Come Round Soon,_ by Sara Bareilles

The 1967 Chevy Impala pulled into the city morgue's parking lot. Two women got out, one quite old, the other quite young. The young woman did not help the older woman, nor did the older woman ask for any. The two went into the morgue together.

The clerk at the front desk was very jumpy. His fingers twitched as he pulled on the filing cabinet, flitting through file drawer after file drawer until he found the right one.

"Ah, here we go," he wheezed. The two women simultaneously turned their faces to him. He seemed to twitch even more as they stared at him. He had never met people like them before. Their every move was coordinated, as if some chorographer had designed a bizarre dance for them to perform. Whenever the old woman looked one way, the young woman looked the other. When one moved, the other followed, as if pulled by a magnetic force or invisible string.

"Ah, what relation are you to the two men in question?" he asked, fidgeting with the file.

"I'm their sister. This is their mother," the young woman spoke. He shivered. Her voice was inhuman as he could possibly imagine. She sounded more like a robot than a human being.

"Ah, well, I'll need to see some identification," he stammered as the young woman bore into him with her eyes.

"We're in quite a hurry," snapped the older woman. She sounded robotic, but a bit more human than the younger woman.

"I just can't release dead bodies to random people, miss," he pointed out. The old woman raised a withered hand. The clerk's eyes slid into the back of his head.

"This way, if you please," he spoke like a robot. He shuffled out from behind the counter, taking a large key ring with him. He shuffled down the corridor into the actual morgue. He went down the row and unlocked two doors. Sliding the bodies out, he stood at attention when he was done.

The two women had followed him the whole way. They hadn't spoken. They ignored the clerk and instead examined the bodies.

"These'll take some work," commented the old woman, poking one of the bodies.

"Yes, yes, this one's back is broke, and his stomach's in shreds."

"Well, there's nothing left of this one's front!"

The two women looked briefly at each other.

"We should go," said the younger woman. The older one nodded. The clerk left and brought back two carts. He carefully lifted the two body bags onto the carts and then stepped back.

"You'll go back to your desk and if anyone comes asking, his relatives came to pick him up," instructed the old woman as she pushed one of the carts to the door. The clerk nodded.

_Later that day:_

"Excuse me, sir, but where might I find those 'new' bodies?"

The clerk at the desk looked up. Another man, this one in a crisp suit looked back at him.

"New bodies, sir?"

"Yes, the two new ones."

"What were their numbers, sir?"

"Three six fifty two and three six fifty three," rattled off the man in the suit.

"Here we go," said the clerk. He handed two files to the other man. The man opened the file and nodded.

"Yes, yes, these are the ones," he said, turning away from the desk and was about to go through the door leading into the morgue when the clerk stopped him.

"Wait a minute, I almost forgot. Someone already came to get those bodies," said the clerk, scratching his head. "Yeah, someone already got them."

The man in the suit spun around, "What did you say?"

"Someone's already got them," said the clerk very slowly.

"Already…who?" demanded the other man.

"An old woman and a young woman. Said they were their mother and sister," answered the clerk. The man in the suit seemed to be shaking with fury.

"Two women came in here, proclaiming they were their mother and sister, and you _let them take the bodies_?" fumed the man in the suit.

"I can't withhold dead relatives," said the clerk, bristling.

"Oh, yes you can. Because those women were not relatives," spat the man in the suit, slapping the files down on the front desk.

"How do you know that?" asked the clerk. The man in the suit tapped the files.

"You should read more often," he commented. "The Winchester brothers have no _living_ relatives." The man in the suit left the morgue.

* * *

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

"Got a pulse."

"That's good."

"How are you coming?"

"Eh, he'll live."

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

"Ah ha! He lives!"

"That's cute. Very cute."

"I feel like Dr. Frankenstein."

The two women were standing over two bodies. Both bodies looked as if someone had decided to have fun with a scalpel and then decided not to finish. Black stitches stood out against the pale skin of both of the men. Both women were covered in blood, and they conversed as if they did this every day.

"How long till they wake up?" asked one of the women. Her short brown hair was pulled into a stubby ponytail, the end of which was curling up. She pulled off a pair of scrubs, revealing jeans and an _AC/DC_ t-shirt. The other woman followed suit. Her hair was also in a ponytail, but it was longer and more wavy than the first woman's. Instead of jeans, she wore a pair of grey sweatpants and a pale yellow t-shirt.

"Could be a couple of days," replied the second woman, dumping her bloodstained scrubs in the trash. "Could be a couple of weeks."

"They've healed fast before," pointed out the first woman, tossing her scrubs in the trash as well. She then proceeded to pick up various scraps of bloodied cloth and threw them in after the scrubs. The second woman deposited a series of medical instruments into a separate plastic bag.

"Yes, but that was when their spirits were actually _in_ their bodies," the second woman tossed the plastic bag on top of the scrubs and scraps of cloth. She then began to pitch pans of antiseptic liquid on top of the whole mess.

"I guess that's next," said the first woman, tying the top of the now bulging trash bag.

"I guess so, but first, let's move these guys to more comfortable quarters," said the second woman, now wheeling the two men out of the room. The first woman followed, leaving a trail of liquid behind her. When the two got outside they loaded the two men into the car. The first woman nodded to the second woman. The second woman took out a match box, struck a match, then dropped it inside of a plastic container. The plastic container burst into flame. The second woman picked up the container with a pair of fire tongs and chucked it, tongs and all, into the building. A trail of fire exploded forth from where the container lay, going up three flights of stairs and into a room with two hospital operating tables in it. The two tables went up in flames as the whole room caught fire.

The car drove out of the alleyway and onto a back street as the building behind them went up in flames, all evidence with it.

* * *

A man in a crisp black suit surveyed the charred remains of what was once a warehouse. He turned to a shaking policeman beside him.

"No one was seen leaving the scene?" he asked quietly. The policeman nodded.

"Nobody came, and nobody left," he whispered. "Ain't nobody been 'round here at all!"

The man in the suit nodded. "I see," he said. He put his fingers together, as if pondering something.

"Well, that'll be all," the man in the suit turned to the policeman. The policeman was shaking horribly.

"Seems you are no longer useful," whispered the man quietly.

"Wha…what d'you…" the policeman started, but he stopped suddenly, choking. The man in the suit raised his hand. The policeman rose with it, his feet soon dangling a foot from the ground.

"Now, now, there's no need to struggle. It's just the natural order of things," as the man said this, he closed his eyes then opened them. They were completely black. He lowered his hand and the policeman fell to the ground, bursting into flame when he hit the ground.

"Run, run as fast as you can," said the man in the suit, watching the policeman burning. "But angels cannot hide from me."


	6. Chapter 6: Resurface

Chapter 6—Resurface

_Without a soul_

_My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold_

_Until you find it there and lead it back home_

----_Bring Me to Life_, by Evanescence

For the past one hundred years, Dean had been forced to carve up Sammy. The demon Beelzebub had taken over Hell since Lucifer had risen. If Lucifer was king of Hell, the Beelzebub was the prince.

Beelzebub delighted in making souls suffer. He didn't carve them to bits like Alistair. No, instead, he made them do the very thing that scares them to death. Something that the soul would rather die (such bitter irony) than do. For Dean, it was hurting Sammy.

"MMMMMMM!" screamed illusion-Sam. Dean wished he could cry as his hand unwillingly rose and carved into Sam.

"_It's only an illusion, it's only an illusion_," thought Dean over and over to himself, but there was no way he could convince himself that he was not cutting open his brother. At the end of each "day," Dean would take the blade to himself, ripping open his arms and slicing out his heart. But as he lay dying on the burning floor, demons would circle him like vultures, taunting him.

"Come on, Dean! It'll be so much easier when you give in!" screeched one demon, its whole being twisting and turning amid flames.

"Come play, Dean! Come play!" yowled another demon. It's voice oddly childlike, in a creepy sort of way.

"Go stick it where the sun shines," hissed Dean as he died.

"Ahhh, you forgot, Dean. There is no sunshine. Not anymore!" cackled a third demon. The demons dispersed as Dean reappeared, whole. Illusion-Sam was whimpering on the rack.

"I pray to God that you're not actually on this thing," whispered Dean as his hand involuntarily rose, scalpel in hand.

* * *

Sam was also praying for relief. His shoulders ached, his back hurt, and his neck was killing him. His hands were so bloody that the handle of the shovel he was using was slick. The hole was six feet deep, four feet wide, and five feet, eight inches long. Just large enough for Dean's body.

Sam stabbed the shovel into the ground and walked over to where a simple pine box lay. Grunting, he dragged the box to the hole in the ground, and pushed it into the hole. With a hollow _thunk_ and a muffled_ thump_, the box sent up a small cloud of dust as it settled into the hole. He yanked the shovel out of the ground and started filling in the hole. By the time he was done, night had fallen.

Sam carried the shovel to the trunk of the Impala and threw it in, then got in the car. He drove a short way until he got to some crossroads. Sighing, Sam wrapped his hands up and lay down on the seat of the Impala. He closed his eyes.

All too soon, Sam was digging again.

* * *

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" asked the woman with the short hair. The long haired woman nodded.

"Let's do this," she closed her eyes. The first woman glanced at the body next to the second woman. The man was handsome, but his face was not peaceful. Tubes stuck out of him every which way. She shook her head. The stories she's heard about this man; the things she saw him do. It was astronomical that they were actually going through with this. But Castiel had pleaded with them. He hadn't ordered, he had pleaded.

She opened her eyes. "And that's why we're doing this," she whispered. Taking a deep breath, she began to chant in Latin.

* * *

The man in the dark suit stopped. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He opened up his mind and listened to all those around him. He sought two voices, and pretty soon, he found them. In his mind, echoing around, Latin words resounded in his head. The woman who was speaking them was pretty, he'll give her that.

"But she's an angel," he hissed under his breath.

"Uh, sir? Sir? Are you okay?" said someone from next to him. The man opened his eyes and smiled. The person who had talked to him backed away.

"Oh, yes, I'm perfectly fine," he whispered. He stalked off, the hunt renewed.

* * *

"Sam. Sam. _Sam._"

"Go away," whispered Sam, his hands slipping from the handle of the shovel. He reached down to pick it up, his back protesting the whole way.

"Sam. Sam. Look for me, Sam."

"No, I won't!" cried Sam, collapsing as he reached for the shovel. He lay in the dirt, not moving. But the day wouldn't end until he had buried Dean.

"Sam, you must. You must," the voice was getting closer. In his agony, Sam felt something.

"Sam, listen to my voice. Do that, and you shall be free."

Sam was listening now.

"Do you hear me, Sam?"

"Yes," gasped Sam. For once, his gasp was not in pain. The voice was like a cool drink of water, washing over him. He sat up slowly, wincing as his legs were shot through with pain. But he ignored them.

"Where are you?" he asked into the air.

"Follow my voice," said the voice. Sam stood up. He didn't hurt as much as he used to, but the pain was still there. He stumbled forward and fell.

"Sam, get up! You can find me, Sam! You must!" the voice pleaded with him. He forced himself to stand again, but promptly fell to his knees.

"_Get up, Sam_," another voice appeared, this time in his head. It sounded like Dean's.

"_Get up, Sam. Don't you dare give up," _said Dean. Sam crawled in the dirt towards the other voice.

"Find me, Sam. Follow my voice."

"I am," he cried. He kept crawling, barely able to will his body to move the way he wanted. All of the sudden, demons appeared, swarming him as he crawled.

"NOOO!! WHY SHOULD YOU BE CHOSEN!!!" screeched one demon, kicking him down. Sam fell over onto his side and curled into a ball as the demons beat him.

"You were worse than any of us. Why should you get a free ticket topside?" shrieked another demon.

"Sam, don't give up. I'm not as far as you think." At the sound of the beautiful voice, the demons recoiled.

"How…why…no, it's not possible!" yelped a third demon. Sam took advantage of the demons' fear and crawled as fast as he was able towards the voice. All at once, a light fell onto him. The demons scattered, cackling and screeching the whole way. Sam was stuck looking at a pair of beautiful feet and the hem of a white dress or skirt.

"Sam," the beautiful voice said his name softly. He looked up. A beautiful woman stood over him. Her face was kind, her skin giving off a soft glow. She smiled at him. Sam become conscious of how dirty he was exactly.

"Sam," she repeated, holding out a delicate hand to him. Sam was afraid to take it, afraid to dirty this woman.

"I'm not worthy," he whispered, casting his gaze down back to the ground. He did not want to touch this woman. It wasn't the physical dirt that he was worried about. That could come off. No, it was his soul he was thinking about. His soul was a piece of dirt, damned beyond recognition.

"It is for that reason that I know you are," she said. She leaned down, lifting Sam's face to look at her. Sam didn't breathe.

"Come, Sam, take my hand," she whispered. Straightening up, she held out her hand again. Sam looked at her face, and then looked at her hand, then back to her face. Slowly, hesitantly, and shakily, he raised a bloody, dirty hand and put it in hers. Instantly, relief flooded through him, purging all of the pain from his body. He felt nothing but pure bliss.

"Close your eyes," instructed the woman. Sam did. He would be eternally grateful to this woman, this angel.

* * *

The woman with the long hair opened her eyes and smiled.

"Well?" asked the short haired woman. "Did he come?"

"He's back," she replied gleefully. She sat up, swaying back and forth.

"Woah, I'm lightheaded," she commented, shaking her head.

"Yeah, well, get over it, cause we got to move," said the short haired woman.

"What? So soon?"

"Yeah, some demon picked up our trail. Seems he wants the brothers," the short haired woman inclined her head to the other room.

"Damn," hissed the long haired woman. She sighed, "Do you think we can move them?"

The short haired woman snorted, "Yeah, only if they were both just a pile of dead meat. But Sam's spirit is back, which makes it harder. He's barely hanging on right now, and it'll take a lot to get him back up and running."

"Isn't there some way to camouflage ourselves here?" asked the long haired woman, hopping off of the table. The short haired woman thought for a minute, then nodded.

"But we're gonna need some serious mojo," she frowned. "Maybe Cas can help us."

"I would hope so," said the long haired woman in a low voice. "He's the one who sent us on this kamikaze mission in the first place."

* * *

The man in the suit ground his teeth in frustration. He had hit a dead end, when he had been so close to catching those two angels, they had slipped through his fingers.

"They must have outside help somewhere," he hissed to himself. "But where? And who?"

Frustrated, the man kicked a low wall, turning the bricks into dust. The Apocalypse had been on the move, but not as fast as he had wanted it, and it was all because of those Winchester brothers. They had been fighting tooth and nail, keeping his children from spreading. They had pushed them into one place, one empty ghost town, and then they began to slaughter his children. It was a slow process, but other hunters jumped in to help and soon he couldn't keep his children alive. Many became too afraid to do his bidding, and more refused to surface. They scattered, like sheep scatter at the sight of danger.

He scowled. He would find the Winchesters and make them pay for the crimes they have committed. He looked up and smiled. The man walked across the street and into a church.

* * *

"He's gone," said the long haired woman. She turned to look at the short haired woman.

"Let's get this done with," said the short haired woman, lying down. The long haired woman walked over and stood over her. The two women closed their eyes and the long haired woman began to chant in Latin. The short haired woman's body shuddered and then lay still. The long haired woman opened her eyes.

"Hurry," she whispered.

* * *

Dean stabbed the scalpel in his arm at the crease of his elbow. He dragged it downward till it reached his hand. The blood flowed out of his wound freely, soaking his arm. He switched hands and did the same to the other arm. He dropped to his knees as his head started spinning. He picked up the scalpel with bloody hands from where he had dropped it. Dean stabbed himself repeatedly in the stomach and chest. He wanted it to end. He needed it to end.

Dean was lying on the ground. He didn't know how he got here; he just knew he couldn't move at all. He was lying in something warm and wet, and it had a faint metallic smell. His head felt disconnected from his body and he felt the odd sensation of floating.

"Dean," whispered a soft voice in his ear. Dean opened his eyes.

"Dean, find me," commanded the voice softly.

"I can't move," he whispered back.

"Yes, you can, Dean. You must," the voice engulfed him, giving him energy. With shaking arms, Dean hoisted himself onto his hands and knees.

"That's it, Dean. You can do it," said the voice. Dean struggled to move, the blood still falling out of his open wounds. Shaking, Dean fell to the ground and lay there.

"I can't do it," he gave up then, content to die there.

"No, Dean. You cannot give up. Sam needs you."

Dean raised his head, "Sam?"

"Your brother is waiting for you, Dean. He needs you," said the voice calmly. Dean struggled, but he managed to crawl on his belly towards the voice. The only thing that kept him moving was the name.

"_Sam, Sam, Sam,_" he thought as he agonizingly crawled towards the voice.

"Dean, find me. Follow my voice. You know the path," said the voice.

"It's so dark," he whispered as spots danced in front of his eyes.

"You must find the light, Dean. Find the light within you," the voice was getting fainter now. Dean tried to move faster, but each movement he made was in pure torture. Dirt and small rocks lodged themselves in his wounds, and he bit his lip until it bled.

"Find me, Dean. You must find me!" cried the voice as it began to fade.

Dean began to hum. It felt strange and sounded funny, but he continued to do so. After awhile, he recognized the _AC/DC_ tune, "Hells Bells." He smiled to himself.

"Look for me, Dean. Find the light," said the voice, closer now

A shaft of light fell onto Dean. He looked up, and instantly covered his eyes. A woman stood before him, her skin glowing brightly. She watched him as he cowered at her feet.

"Don't be afraid, Dean. You are safe now," she said. The woman got on her knees, and lifted up his face. She stared into his eyes. Her fingers trailed like feathers over his self-inflicted pains. The blood rushed back into the cuts and the skin fused itself back together. She placed both of her hands on his chest and felt her way down his chest and stomach. All of Dean's wounds were healed.

"Come with me," she whispered in his ear. Dean nodded. The woman stood up, holding out her hand. Dean took her hand and she helped him stand up.

"Close your eyes," she said. Dean did, and was instantly relieved of the pain he had felt for the past hundred years.

* * *

The short haired woman opened her eyes and sat up.

"Did he make it?" asked the long haired woman, tying her hair up.

"Yes, but it took a lot of persuasion," the short haired woman stretched and yawned. "Gosh, I'm hungry."

"Here," the long haired woman handed her a burger. The short haired woman took it and bit a chunk out of it. She chewed slowly with her eyes closed.

"They didn't have these when I was growing up," she said, indicating the burger. The long haired woman didn't say anything. She stared at the floor, contemplating.

"So both the boys' spirits are back?" she asked quietly. The short haired woman nodded.

"Yeah, they're back. I just can't understand why Cas is so determined to keep them alive. I've watch them their whole lives, and they keep dying for each other over and over and over again," the short haired woman swallowed. "And they're going to die again."

"Do you think Sam is the one?" the long haired woman looked up at the short haired woman.

"He seems to be, but Lucifer will have to find him first, won't he?" the short haired woman threw the wrapper at the long haired woman. They both smiled.

"I suppose so," said the long haired woman.

"And that's why we're here," said the short haired woman, getting off of the table. "To protect those two brothers."


	7. Chapter 7: Waking Up

Chapter 7—Waking Up

_Carry on my wayward son_

_There'll be peace when you are done_

----_Carry On Wayward Son_, by Kansas

The first thing that Dean heard was the steady _beep, beep, beep_ of a heart monitor. He groaned and gagged on the tube sticking down his throat. He grappled with it for a minute before he tore it away from his face. He leaned over and threw up over the side of the bed he was in as the tube came out. He heaved up whatever little was in his stomach and then leaned back up into a sitting position, wiping his mouth with a shaking hand. His eyes took a moment to focus, and in that moment, Dean shivered from the cool air that wafted across his body.

"_Cold air?_" he thought. "_Wait a minute._" Dean looked down. His hands searched his body, running over stitches here and there.

"_There was nothing left_," he thought, lifting up his shirt. Black stitches ran along the length of his upper body. He groaned and dropped his shirt, leaning over to try and stop the piercing pain that ripped through his body. Pushing the blankets off, Dean tore wires off of him, making the monitors around him blink and bleep.

"Ah, shut up," he rasped as he pulled out the needle stuck in his arm. He dropped it, rubbing his arm. Hauling himself out of the bed, Dean tried to stand, but doubled over in pain. His inside felt like they were on fire.

"Oh, God," he gasped, stumbling to the doorway and holding on to it for support. "Why?"

"_I'm alive_," he thought. "_That's the second time I've died. Why can't I ever just stay dead_?"

"Because God has a plan for you," said a voice. Dean raised his head. Castiel stood in front of him, in all his trench coat glory.

"Why'd you do it, Cass?" asked Dean, his throat burning. "Why'd you bring me back again."

"I didn't," said Castiel. "I could not bring you back a second time, Dean; however, I was able to persuade your guardian angel to help."

"What the…I have a guardian angel?"

Castiel nodded. Dean looked slightly surprised.

"I have a guardian angel," he repeated.

"Yes, you do. And so does Sam," Castiel put his hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean looked up at him. They were eye to eye.

"You must find her, Dean," said Castiel in a low whisper. "She can help you."

"What about you?" asked Dean. "Why can't you help me?"

"Because I have orders, Dean. And I cannot disobey," Castiel squeezed Dean's shoulder a little. Dean winced.

"Sorry," apologized Castiel.

"It's okay," said Dean. "How do I find this angel?"

"You will know her by her mark," said Castiel, helping Dean straighten up. Dean winced again as his stitches were pulled slightly.

"Her mark?"

"Yes, all guardian angels have marks."

"And how will I know this mark?"

"You will know, Dean. You will know." With a slight _whooshing_ sound, Castiel disappeared. Dean clung to the wall for support as he made his way out of the room. He followed another beeping noise, hoping it was Sam.

It was. Sam was peaceful, as always, as he lay in another bed. Dean gripped the doorframe for support and pushed himself into the room. He stumbled, doubled over, to Sam's side and caught the side of the bed for support.

"Sam?" he half whispered, half gasped. He shook Sam a little, but Sam didn't respond. Dean eyed the oxygen tubes in his nose and pulled them out, along with the tube sticking down his throat. Sam's eyes opened wide and he heaved himself over the bed, throwing up whatever was in his stomach.

"Sammy," whispered Dean, helping Sam back up. Sam winced and twisted one arm around to feel his back.

"Dean, am I…are we alive?" he asked. Dean was reminded of when Sam was little, about ten or eleven, and he had asked Dean if he had died after the werewolf attack.

"Yeah, I guess we are," said Dean, helping Sam with the rest of the wires.


	8. Chapter 8: Confusion

Chapter 8—Confusion

Dear Reader,

That is the title of the eighth chapter of my _Supernatural _fan-fiction, "Mark of an Angel." I'm kinda sad to report I will not be finishing THIS version of the fan-fiction. After I finished Season 5, I realized I wanted to re-write my fan-fiction to kinda fit the end of Season 5. So, a new story will be put up, under the name "Carry on My Wayward Son", and if you'd like to read it, all you have to do is click on the title. Hope you've enjoyed THIS version. See ya'll later!

Insanely Mad,

Of Cabbages & Kings


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